


What Might Have Been Lost

by brocanteur



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: F/F, Future Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-03
Updated: 2016-04-03
Packaged: 2018-05-31 01:20:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6449776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brocanteur/pseuds/brocanteur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"There is, after all, a reconciliation."</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Might Have Been Lost

There is, after all, a reconciliation.  
  
  
Guinevere is cold. It is no longer snowing, but the ground is frozen and slush sticks stubbornly to the wintery world. When Morgana turns and walks away, she follows silently.  
  
There is amusement in Morgana's voice when she says, "You bring no guards. Is Arthur now so trusting?"  
  
"I have no fear of you, Morgana," Gwen replies quietly.  
  
"And why should you?"  
  
The weather is not suitable for a stroll through the garden but there they are nonetheless, Morgana a few steps ahead--always a few steps ahead. They are very much alone when she leads them to a bench in a secluded corner of the garden. The ground is still pure white here.  
  
Gwen shivers.  
  
"Please, sit," Morgana says, bowing her head in a way that is not altogether reverent. "How it suits you, life as queen."  
  
"I suppose I shall always be a servant in your eyes. All those years--"  
  
Morgana interrupts. "You were never that, Gwen." When she sees Guinevere refuse her seat, Morgana smiles absently and settles on the bench. "You'll find it warmer if you sit close to me," she says.  
  
Gwen doesn't bother mentioning they very well could be inside, near the fire. She knows Morgana has always had her reasons for doing everything, but she does not wish to know what they are now. She sighs resignedly and sits. "We're glad to have found peace with you, Morgana."  
  
"So you're Arthur's emissary as well as his queen?" Morgana's smile twists until it seems almost pained. "And where is dear King Arthur?" Uttered by Morgana, _king_ sounds like the very worst kind of insult.  
  
Gwen chooses to ignore Morgana's tone and replies, "He and Merlin--"  
  
"Oh, of course. As it would be, I suppose."  
  
"You of all people should understand," Guinevere murmurs. She twists her hands together, hoping to warm them. It feels as though there is ice in her veins. "They share something I do not begrudge them, something I cannot be part of." When Morgana snorts, Guinevere adds, "As you and I did."  
  
"You speak as if you remembered."  
  
"I do not forget, Morgana."  
  
For a moment Morgana is silent, her blue gaze fixed on some unknown. Finally she draws her attention back to Guinevere and holds out her hands, both of them, palm up. When she says "Your majesty," her words are invitation.  
  
Morgana's skin is warm and soft, and Gwen allows herself the momentary pleasure and grief of remembering the last time they held each other.  
  
"Why did you come here?" Morgana asks. There is no bitterness in her words, no recrimination--only sadness and Gwen thinks (perhaps she hopes) a bit of longing. "Did you wish to revisit all the ways in which we betrayed one another?"  
  
Gwen swallows down an angry retort. "We wanted you to know we harbor no resentment."  
  
"We," Morgana mutters beneath her breath. Idly, she strokes Gwen's palm, her thumb tracing lines, visible and invisible. "Are the two of you so inextricably linked there is no Guinevere? Does she not _harbor resentment?_ Because I..." Morgana stops and her grip on Gwen's hands tightens. When she takes a breath, it is deep and shaky. "Forgive me."  
  
"You've never been one to hold your tongue," Gwen says grimly. "There is nothing to forgive."  
  
Morgana releases one of Gwen's hands, but Gwen finds herself grasping the one with both of her own--it's so warm, Gwen is afraid to let go lest the cold that surrounds them should overtake her again. Then Morgana's free hand is upon her cheek, and Gwen forgets it is winter (how it feels like spring). "Nothing to forgive?" Morgana whispers. "A world of injury, my dear. How you hurt me, and how I hurt you." She shakes her head and repeats, almost wildly, "Nothing to forgive?"  
  
"We cannot undo," Gwen replies, aware of how closely she and Morgana sit, of how sweet Morgana's breath is (for she takes it in every time Morgana exhales), "what has been done."  
  
"I was so angry," Morgana says. There is a spark in her eye, as though she were reliving that very thing that forced her wrath. "I thought of enchanting you, of stealing you away." She shrugs. "But you never would have forgiven me, not as you forgive me now. You and your husband and your," her lip curls, "lack of resentment."  
  
"And what should I say, Morgana?" Guinevere nearly pleads. "I don't hate you." As she clutches Morgana's hand, Guinevere is aware of how much her words sound like a declaration of love. She does not say (maybe she forgets) there was a time she hated Morgana more than anything. (Or was it love gone astray?)  
  
"Nor do I hate you," Morgana echoes as her face softens. She releases a sigh that sounds very much like a cry and closes the distance between them.  
  
Morgana's mouth tastes like summer wine and youthful promises. Gwen cannot help the way her breath catches in her throat, the way her chest hitches. Threading through her hair Morgana's fingers, strong but gentle, pull her closer. The kiss changes, takes on a new and dangerous intensity, and they do not part until the call for air is too great to ignore.  
  
Morgana, her forehead pressed to Gwen's, does not smile. She takes Gwen's hand and places it against her heart, kisses her again, a glancing caress. "I harbor resentment, Guinevere," she whispers throatily. "Deeply."  
  
Gwen closes her eyes, leans in and rubs her cheek against Morgana's. Her blood is fevered, and she forgets she promised herself she would never cry for Morgana again. "As do I," she confesses. "As do I."


End file.
